Cursed Cats
by sinj
Summary: Snape and Hermione are given a little help to realise their love by a cursed cat. Read it, go on, you know you want to!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:  All together now… I don't own Harry Potter, it all belongs to J.K. Rowling

Shanks once again cursed the misfortune that was his life as he peered cautiously from beneath the bed where he had taken refuge.  He winced as a book crashed off a wall and hit the floor scuddering to a halt only inches away from the edge of his shelter.  Something else thudded against the wall behind him, dislodging a mirror with its vibrations, sending it crashing to the ground.  

'Absolutely, bloody brilliant' he thought.  That was all his owner, and by extension he, needed.  Seven years of mishap, mayhem and misfortune.  Why, oh why couldn't he live in the normal world where such things were of no consequence, where mere superstition didn't really hold true unless you truly believed it.  But no, he had wound up in the magical realm where there were rules about this sort of thing and no exceptions made regardless of whether you dismissed the validity of a curse.

Curses, curses, at the end of the day his whole life boiled down to sodding curses.  It was a curse that had got him stuck in his present feline form.  It was a curse that was the cause of his owner's temporary descent into mindless violence.  And it would be the breaking of his curse that would guide his waking actions for the foreseeable future.

He retreated back quickly to the centre of his refuge as more and more objects hit the walls and the floor.  Banging on the door revealed that others had become aware of the situation in the room.  He knew that they were not concerned for his welfare, only that of his mistress, but still saving her from herself in this case would protect him too.

The door burst open, splinters of wood flying everywhere, embedding into the floor, the wall and from the pained shrieks, his mistress.  With care he moved forward to assess the damage.  He was not concerned, he told himself sternly, Colm Shanks would never concern himself over a slip of a girl. And neither for that matter would any self respecting tomcat, a tiny voice in his mind added, which he rapidly shushed.  It was starting to worry him how his animal instincts were beginning to take over his mind.  He feared that if he continued in his present state for much longer it would slowly but surely push out the mind of the man that he had been.  Well, not a man, a leprechaun.  And not just any leprechaun, Prince of the West Counties leprechauns he had been.  He supposed his annoying, and far less handsome, cousin now had that title.  'Well' he thought, 'hopefully I'll be regaining that title soon.'

However that all depended on breaking the curse he was under.  And that in turn required the assistance of his human owner who, unfortunately, was currently lying flat on her back with rather nasty looking slivers of wood sticking out of her.  It conjured to his mind a rather vivid image he had once seen on the fuzzy picture box in her family house from a film called Hellraiser.  

Oh god, if she had turned into that all his plans would be ruined!  

He padded over to her, taking care to avoid the sharp pieces of wood that were scattered over the floor.  She was unconscious.  He lifted his head up and deliberately threw an accusing stare at creature that had done this to her.

Behind wire-framed spectacles, green eyes widened in horror at the sight of the girl passed out on the floor.  From behind him a ginger haired boy peered over his shoulder and dropped his jaw open.

"Crikes, Harry!  You were only meant to open the door, not blast it to kingdom come!"

The clatter of rapidly approaching footsteps interrupted whatever was going to be said next.  Two more figures appeared in the doorway.  The elderly woman, who had just arrived, barely paused to take in the scene before rushing into the room to tend to the stricken child, uttering oaths and exclamations as she did so.  The tall, slightly intimidating gentleman did not enter the room, though his eyes made a thorough sweep of the debris inside, before turning and settling on the two boys in front of him who had turned deathly pale in his presence.

Before either could utter a sound he pushed them out of the way as Hermione's levitated body moved out into the corridor followed by a grim-faced Professor McGonagall.  Only after they had vanished out of sight did Professor Snape remove his arm from the boys, allowing them to move away from the wall.

Harry and Ron looked up into his eyes and saw gleaming fury.  As one they both gulped.

Author's Notes:

Hi there and hello.  More of this will be uploaded soon.  If you read this and liked it, and even if you hated it, how 'bout letting me know by writing a review?  Not asking for much, just a couple of lines. Go on… you know you want to!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not the inventor of the realm of Harry Potter.  That would be J.K. Rowling

Crookshanks took deep satisfaction in extending his claws and dragging them through the boy's flesh.  The child's immediate hiss of pain and grasping of his shin gave the cat a sense of peace.

'Good' thought Shanks viciously, 'maybe next time you'll think before you do something so dangerous again.'  He wished he had someway of actually saying this to the boy.

"Maybe, Potter, next time you'll think before you do something so dangerous again."

Crookshanks whipped his head round to the dark man that had spoken his thoughts.  The cat gave an appreciative purr.  Finally, someone who had the sense to point out Harry's stupidity, not to mention having the presence to get through to the thick-headed boy.  God knew, Hermione tried, she really did, and had acted as a brake on the boy's more outrageous plans but she wasn't really scary or strong enough to prevent him from going through with some of the less bone-headed ideas.  It had put her in bad situations countless times often against her better judgement.  

Shanks hated it.  Oh sure, he knew that Harry, Ron and Hermione were friends, but lately this tendency to get into trouble had been getting out of hand.  He attempted to warn her but he was only a cat, and there really was only so much you could convey with a vocabulary of 'meow', 'purr' and 'yowl'.

"I was only trying to help, Professor Snape," the voice was bitter and sarcastic.  Behind him he heard Ron let out a faint gasp.

Snape's eyes narrowed at the boy, "You seem to have succeeded remarkably well.  Miss Granger," here he paused and pulled a face, as if saying her name had left a bad taste in his mouth, before continuing, "is _obviously_ much better off being comatose and imitating a porcupine."

'Not,' thought Shanks, 'quite how I would put it, but still, good point well made.'  He was starting to like this Professor Snape.  From the snatches of information he had about the man from whenever the trio were discussing him, he had expected someone more sinister, ugly, and bat-like, with a gianormous nose.  The man standing in front of him was not handsome certainly, but not immediately repulsive.  As he remembered what the children had said about Snape he realised that his mistress had never actually made any disparaging comments about the man.  It had always been the boys, and it was always Hermione that made them stop.  An idea began to form in the back of his mind.

Author's Notes:

Short, sweet and will be rapidly followed by an update tomorrow.  I actually have a good idea where I'm heading with this, but as ever I'm open to ideas / suggestions.

Thankyou to everyone who reviewed the first chapter.  Feel free to review this one too, hint hint :o)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine, damn that lying genie….

Hermione awoke feeling as if she had been hit by a bomb blast.  As she raised her head weakly to survey the damage on her body she ruminated that that explanation may not have been too far from the truth.  Her head was pounding, she could feel her blood rushing around her body.  Above the deafening noise in her skull she could just make out raised voices in the next room, one female, some males.  Settling back down in her bed she reasoned that it was probably only McGonagall, Harry and Ron.  

Harry and Ron… that jogged a memory loose.  Her door exploding.  Catching a glimpse of Harry on the other side.  Submerging in a wave of blackness.  Well that explained how she had ended up in the infirmary yet again.  Now that she remembered being injured her body seemed to come alive and she inhaled sharply as almost all of her seemed to be in pain.  She blacked out.

When she came round again it was night.  The white sheets on the other beds were illuminated by the moonlight that shafted in through the three large bay windows.  It was somewhat eerie.  There were no other patients as far as she could tell.  In fact, as far as she knew, there had been no overnight patients in the wing for over two months.

Two months ago.  She shuddered deeply and pulled the sheets around her for comfort.  She cast around in her mind for a more pleasant topic and was grateful that the door swung open at that moment.

She lay as still as she could.  Slowed her breathing and tried to give the appearance of sleep.  Through a barely imperceptible crack in her eyes she watched from beneath her eyelashes to see who had come into the room.  She had expected it to be Madam Pomfrey so she was surprised that it was a man and had to force her cry of alarm back down her throat.  As he drew nearer she could see that it was Snape.  He had a mortar and pestle in his hand, probably containing a healing potion for her.

Closing her eyes completely when he came to a standstill by her side Hermione did not dare to breathe.  At least that was until she realised that he would probably get quite alarmed if she didn't make some sign of life.  She exhaled and inhaled, shakily, trying to focus on only her breathing and not what he was doing.  There was a sound of something hitting wood, she flinched involuntarily and froze.  After a moment she felt his fingertips massaging salve onto the backs of her arms which she was thankful for as they had been giving her the most pain.  He repeated his actions to her shins.  He made no comment to her, no attempt to talk even though she was sure that he must have realised that she was awake.  His footsteps echoed out across the polished floor and then faded to nothing.  She was alone again.  The only evidence that he had been there was the mortar dish on her bedside table.

******************************************

A/N:

I can never remember which is which, is it the mortar that's the dish or the pestle??  If anyone knows definitively, well done, all I can say is that there must have been something happening outside the science block that day that distracted me from absorbing that point.

More soon. With fun Snape/Shanks interaction…


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I am not the genius behind the world of Harry Potter.

Crookshanks creeped stealthily around the corner of the dungeon staircase.  It was hard to be discreet when your coat was the colour of a blazing bonfire but it was generally accepted that, for his size, he could be very quiet.  Having said that, he was of a considerable size.  If you were unkind you would call him fat, or as Hermione's youngest cousin had exclaimed, "a walking tub of lard".  

To be fair, it was hardly Shank's fault, he couldn't help being a former prince with exquisite taste in food and a healthy appetite, any more than he could help that Hermione was a generous girl who pandered to all his food cravings.  Nor could it be helped that he was trapped in an enchanted castle where he didn't wander about very much.  Note I say didn't rather than couldn't.  It has to be conceded that the curious part of his cat brain really hadn't put in much of an appearance yet.  He tended to spend most of his days stretched out lazily in front of the fire in the Lion's den or curled up on his mistress' bed receiving rather nice back rubs from whichever girl was present in the dorm at the time.  Thus it was that he was an obscenely large mop of orange fuzziness that you couldn't miss unless you were blind or deaf.  But still, he did try.

Hanging into the shadows he approached the entrance to the Potion master's apartment.  Not many people knew where it was.  In fact, Shank's original plan had been to wander around in the dungeon until Snape appeared and then trail him until he revealed his hideaway.  It was not the most cunning plan and he had been thankful when he had bumped into Mrs. Norris and sweet-talked her into divulging the entrance's location.  Shanks smirked to himself; he may not be the thinnest or most agile cat in the castle, but he was certainly the sweetest talker.  Oh yes, he still had it when it came to the ladies, albeit that he was currently limited to those of the feline persuasion, but even so…

He butted his nose against the portal.  It didn't move.  He let out yowl of frustration.  The barrier vanished.  He went to move in then froze.  Snape was leaning casually against a desk, wand pointed straight between Crookshanks' eyes.  Shanks didn't break eye contact with the man and deliberately walked forward.  Snape kept his wand trained on him the whole time as the tabby came to a rest and sat calmly on his haunches less than a metre from the Professor.  

Man and cat regarded each other, neither blinking, making no sound, faces serious.  Unhurriedly Snape lowered his hand and regarded the creature in front of him.

Shanks turned his back on the Potions Master and sauntered over to the door, pausing there to give the man a meaningful look.  Snape raised an eyebrow then appeared to decide that it was far too late in the evening to be indulging a cat.  He drew himself to his full height, looked haughtily at the fuzzy form in his doorway, turned, and stalked into his quarters.  It was his first big mistake of the evening.

Crookshanks prided himself on having a good idea of how the world worked.  It was quite simple really; he wanted something, he got it.  By extension if he told someone to do something, they would do it.  Snape was about to learn this the hard way.

a/n: Wow, well, it seems a number of people _were_ paying attention and have confirmed that the mortar is indeed the dish.  In answer to a qn that I got sent, no this is not a response to a WIKTT challenge, although methinks I should go check it out and see who else has fallen in love with Crookshanks as a character.

Feedback, as ever, is warmly appreciated.  The more reviews I get, the stronger I feel my obligation is to write and thus the speed of my next post is completely in your hands!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer:  These toys are not mine, I'm just borrowing them.  I promise to put them back in the box when I'm done.

Snape had assumed, as do all humans who have been allowed to become set in their ways, that because he considered his encounter with the cat finished, the cat would see it the same way and would vacate his office.  Probably, if the cat had been a normal cat it would have been a correct assumption, however the cat in this case was Crookshanks, and if he'd only paid a bit more attention to the chatter of Minerva he would have known that Crookshanks was no ordinary feline.  

Shanks watched Snape's retreating form with narrowed eyes.  He was so struck dumb with disbelief that he couldn't even utter a meow.  The great bat of a human was walking away after he had expended so much energy to locate him!  It appeared that this Professor lacked the usual social graces that most in the education industry possessed.  This would definitely need to be worked on, and of course there was no time like the present to begin the instruction.  An ostentatious bookshelf cluttered with possessions caught his eye causing a mischievous glint to appear.

Snape became aware of his miscalculation of the situation when a seemingly impossibly loud crash bounced down the passageway to his private reading room.  Trying to appear nonchalant he strode over to his office to see the cause of the commotion.  He was met with a ticker tape parade of potions parchments, floating with glorying laziness to a floor hidden by a mess of randomly opened books, curios and unidentifiable objects that had all once been lodged together in perfect harmony and order on his grand bookshelf.  Said bookshelf, was now looking decidedly dejected and shabby due to a yawning split in its spine where the shock and shudders from the impact of the ground had met and burst forth creating the energy to scatter the papers through the air.

As he took in the disaster before him he heard a gentle whirring noise.  His eyes scanned the room for the source.  In the corner of the room, next to his desk, which mercifully was still intact, sat his Globe of the Heavens spinning mindlessly.  At first he assumed that the disturbance had caused it to move, then realised that the motion was not slowing.  He stepped closer, looking around the desk, and groaned inwardly at the sight that met his eyes.

A patterned orange paw was fussing the sphere.  Snape's wand hand twitched with the urge to hex the malicious moggy to the next universe.  He knew Crookshanks was the familiar of Hermione Granger and added its existence as another reason to loathe the know-it-all.  The damn cat appeared to be smirking.  Snape shook his head, he really needed to get some more rest if he was beginning to attribute human facial expressions to an animal.  Shanks looked at Snape and gave him a wide grin causing the Potions Master to frown.

'Did you do all this Kitty?' Severus mused mostly to himself, but nevertheless out loud.

Shanks narrowed his eyes in anger for the second time in five minutes.

********************************************************************  

Now, I feel obliged to point out a couple of things before I proceed, otherwise you'll end up with the impression that Shanks is, to put it mildly, off his trolley.  So, imagine that you are a human male, of a middle-age, let's say thirty or so.  You have a normal physique, perhaps you're a bit portly, but nothing that detracts from your overall appearance of being a man of advancing years.  Then imagine that you meet a stranger, or more relevant to our case, an acquaintance, someone you know only in passing, a friend of a friend of a friend, for example.  This person is senior to you by ten years but otherwise not that dissimilar to you.  This acquaintance is of sound mind, appears normal in every respect, someone you would expect to be able to converse with for five minutes if you were thrown together at a gathering.  Suppose then, in the course of your conversation, this person then refers to you as 'boy' or worse still as a 'baby'.  Don't you think you'd feel a bit put out, or at the very least, think the person patronising?  Of course you would, and quite rightly too.  

It's exactly the same for cats.  No cat, especially a vain tomcat, appreciates being referred to as 'kitty'.  To them it is perfectly simple and clear, they are fully grown which anyone, cat, human or even *shudder* a dog, can see, so there can be absolutely no reason for this mistaken name.  And Shanks, being not your average cat, and furthermore, having a mind half full of a leprechaun's temperament, hated being called 'kitty'.  Hated it with a passion.  It really upset him, set him on edge, rather like someone painfully eeking their nails down a blackboard.  So really, it wasn't all that surprising what happened next.  

********************************************************************

Crookshanks leapt onto the writing desk.  Levelling his gaze at the Potions brewer he slowly and deliberately extended his claws.  Maintaining eye contact he drew the sharp nails across the surface leaving four ugly scars.  He saw Snape wince.  The angry red haze that had settled over his mind lifted allowing him to plan his next move.  Snape's eyes darted momentarily to the plush leather chair between him and the cat.  

'A-ha!' thought Shanks, 'so that's your concern is it?'

Making sure that his weapons were clearly visible he stepped confidently onto the arm of the chair.  

He was surprised by the lack of obvious reaction by the man, though not daunted by it.  In his freer days as a leprechaun, Colm Shanks had been known as a mean card player.  Not many would consider card playing as a source of valuable skills, but Colm's mother had figured that there was much to be said for the powers of observation and bluff that good poker sharks enjoyed, so as a dutiful mother she had employed a raft of unsavoury characters to teach her lad the tricks.  Colm considered himself a pretty good reader of creatures – he had been right on the mark about Scabbers – so he knew that Snape was concerned about the chair.  He let the threat hang between them emphasizing the point by lightly scoring the soft leather.

Severus assessed his options; he could try and scare or chase the cat away although he realised that it would in all likelihood result in more destruction of his quarters, he could hex the vile thing though the Granger girl wouldn't approve and Albus and Minerva would castigate him severely, or finally he could just give in and accede to the animal's wishes.

It took him less than two seconds to reach his decision.

"Alright," it was spoken softly.  Had Crookshanks not had marvellous hearing he would have missed the surrender.  "what is it you want of me, oh brute of Beelzebub?" the last was said with a quirk of the lips and a hint of a raised eyebrow.

His eyebrow receded further into his hairline as he saw a gleam of satisfaction settle in the cat's eyes.

a/n's:

hmmm, this took quite a while to get out and I would really appreciate feedback.  See, when I started this I hadn't really considered how I was going to tell the story – I knew I wanted to do it from Crookshank's perspective and I'd got the plot, but I hadn't really thought about having to switch between different perspectives.  So, basically, I'm asking you guys if this chapter works, does it all make sense?  And if it doesn't, can you come up with any suggestions as to how to make it work better, or be clearer?  

In terms of plot, keep reading 'cos there shall be more players and twists added in the next couple of chapters.  Hope you like!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer:  Little me, own this???  I don't think so….

Shanks lightly padded through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts trying to puzzle out something of the character of the obviously annoyed Potions Master trailing behind him.  'He has a sense of drama.  That's promising, definitely something that can be worked with.' mused Shanks, 'doesn't reveal his feelings much though, which could be problematic…  And he does have a rather exaggerated view of his importance, but still, that can be used too.'  He paused at a twist in the corridor, making sure that his unwilling companion followed.

Snape meanwhile was having a few thoughts of his own, mainly of the grumbling variety.  He was somewhat surprised at himself.  A few months ago he would have had little qualm about blasting the wretched creature in front of him into oblivion.  Now, strangely, he didn't feel the level of anger required to dispatch the hellcat without remorse.  He hated to admit it but he was getting mellower now that the threat of Voldemort had been lifted.  He shuddered involuntarily as his subconscious enlightened him to the fact that he felt a small amount of respect for the fiery lump of fur for staring him out earlier in the evening.  He shook his head, clamping down on the unpleasant sensation and pushed it to the darkest recesses of his mind.  What would his former Deatheater comrades say if they knew that he was becoming fond of a silly know-it-all's cat?

From the corner of his eye, Shanks discreetly observed the Professor.  The man seemed to be struggling with some inner torment.  This was a tad worrying.  It wouldn't fit his plan well if it turned out that Snape was unstable.  Although, now Shanks thought about it, that might tug the heartstrings of his kind mistress.  She seemed destined to always struggle after lost causes.  She did it with tweedle-dum and dumber, forever picking up after them and preventing them from dying horrible deaths by being the brains that anticipated the messes before they got too far into them.  She'd even taken on the cause of the House Elves, in spite of their lack of appreciation.  Indeed it almost seemed like the more impossible a task, the more determined she was to accomplish it.

'Well,' thought Crookshanks, 'thawing our cold elixir brewer's heart should be right up her street.  All I need to do is get the idea into her head and help her along the way.  He won't stand a chance.'  He paused in his thoughts as they reached the infirmary.  The final destination was no shock to Severus.  He had rightly concluded that it was Hermione the cat was leading him to.  

The arrival of the odd couple did not go unnoticed.  A thin, dour looking cat with tattered whiskers observed their entrance and arched her eyebrow.

a/n: look, there… can you see it?  A little button saying 'go' right next to the words 'submit review'.  Press it, go on, make it feel loved!  Next chapter will be up in the next couple of days, it's all written, I just have to draft through it for typo's.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright on Harry Potter, much as I'd like to.

Minerva McGonagall would have bristled with indignity if someone called her a busybody.  She would not have denied it, but she would certainly take offence at it being said aloud.  Right now she consoled herself that she was not being nosey; merely concerned for the welfare of her brightest pupil.  She had meant to pop in to check on Hermione for only the briefest of moments but seeing Severus enter the ward she held back waiting for him to leave.  

Five minutes passed to ten.  Ten melted into fifteen.  After half an hour Minerva shifted and stretched out her front legs.  You retained some of your characteristics even in your animagus form and right now, in the drafty stairwell, her rheumatism was playing up.  'What on earth is he doing in there?' she thought crossly.  She had spoken with Poppy who had assured her that Hermione's condition was not serious, painful definitely, but not life-threatening.  She couldn't imagine Severus spending more than a necessary second by the Gryffindor's bedside.

She allowed another five minutes to elapse before restlessly padding up to the heavy doors that marked the entrance to the infirmary.  Tilting her head to one side she strained her ears to pick up the slightest sounds from within.  Not surprising really as the thickness of the doors had been designed with the intention of shielding those on the exterior from the reality inside.

**Thirty-five minutes earlier**

Severus was eyeing Hermione with the same amount of caution that one would a sleeping lioness.  The girl seemed flushed and was making faint moans of pain in her sleep.  He chided himself for not bringing more of the analgesic with him.  Regardless of his cold-hearted outer persona, he was much like any other human when it came to compassion, seeing a child in pain troubled him and he wished he could somehow alleviate it.  

He spied the mortar dish on the bedside table and quietly stooped over it to ascertain if there was any remnant of the salve within it.  A thin green veneer remained on the bottom almost completely dried out.  He rubbed his fingers into it, smearing the small quantity up.  There was nowhere near the amount needed to fully cover her affected area.  Snape judged that the amount would just about treat one of her hands, which probably would ease her rest for a while giving him time to fetch a fresh batch.

For better access he settled down in a kneeling position by Hermione's bedside and commenced lightly massaging the fingers of her left hand, being mindful not to wake her.  She sighed and turned slightly causing him to still his action.  As she nuzzled down into her pillow Snape realised that she had closed her grip around his hand.  To make matters worse she pulled her hand upwards and inwards such that his fingers, intertwined with hers were trapped beneath her chin.  Any attempt to extricate himself would surely result in her waking, and would most likely result in an endless barrage of questions from the annoying know-it-all.  He strongly doubted that she would accept his explanation of his presence being 'all her cat's fault'.  The only option as far as he could see was to wait it out.  She had to loosen her grip eventually…

Five minutes later Severus realised that his wait could be quite some time.  He shifted in tiny degrees trying to get more comfortable.  He knew it was hopeless, at the end of the day, a cold hard floor was a cold hard floor, and not being blessed with a well-padded posterior there was nothing he could do to change that.  He felt a warm mass nestle into his side and looked down.  Crookshanks' bright green eyes gazed up at him, almost apologetically.  Snape gave the cat a resigned look and began scratching Shanks behind his ears.  After about ten minutes Shanks felt Snape's hand slow and then stop.  He twisted his head up to look at the Professor.  Severus's head was tilted to one side, lying flat on the edge of the mattress next to Hermione, his shoulders moving up and down in the gentle rhythm of sleep.  

'Their first night together,' thought Shanks, 'the morning after's gonna be hell, but they'll definitely have something to think about.'  Feeling more than a little smug at the way his plan was working out he pushed closer into Snape's soft cloaks and gave himself over to the dreamworld.

*********************************************************************

Minerva pushed against the swing door cautiously.  The hinges were old and rusty and she didn't want to alert the occupants of the ward to her intrusion.  Whatever was going on she wanted to witness herself.  She squeezed through the narrow portal she had made, being sure to let it close gently, without a noise.  With care she crossed over to the darkest part of the room and keeping in the shadows made her way over to Hermione.

As the only patient in the wing came into view Minerva pushed her senses into overdrive trying to locate the bad-tempered Potions Master.  She did not want to be spotted by him if she could possibly help it.  He already sneered at her about her watchfulness over her charges.  She knew that he didn't mean it so negatively, but she always found herself feeling defensive and she'd rather not give him further ammunition to throw out at her in the staff room.

At first glance he was nowhere to be seen.  She wondered if he might have left without her noticing, but she dismissed this knowing that he would have had to pass right by her if that were the case.  She moved so that the bed was directly in front of her.  It took ten seconds for her brain to process the sight before her.  It took a further thirty seconds for her brain to coordinate with her eyes for a double-take to confirm the vision.

Hard though it is for a cat to do, Minerva pursed her lips.  Silently exiting the infirmary she made her way to her rooms to ponder on what, if anything, to make of the sight of Hogwarts' unashamed resident sourpuss keeping a bedside vigil over Hogwarts' current queen of the bookworms.

Oblivious to McGonagall's thoughts, the occupants of the infirmary slept on.

Author's Notes:

Ok, so I haven't posted in ages.  But do not fear, I have used the time well and more chapters will soon be on their way!

As ever, I am sad and needy and desperately craving reviews… make me happy, leave a couple of lines, use that shiny blue button at the bottom of the page, go on do it now!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer:  J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter, not me.  I'm just messing around with her wonderful characters.

When Hermione awoke she was thinking of Lavender.  Not Lavender, the girl whom she had spent the last seven years at school with, but Lavender the fragrant purple plant.  As her consciousness gradually returned all her mental faculties to her she realised that the brilliant image in her mind was being caused by the odour emanating from her fingers.  Unsteadily she forced her neck to tilt down so that she could observe her hand.  It was then that she realised that rather than the usual five digits, her hand now appeared to be sporting ten.  Still too close to sleep to be anything more than mildly disturbed at this, she bent her head further to examine her new fingers more closely.

Her new fingers were paler, more milky in complexion than her old ones.  Although thicker, they seemed slender, and were obviously longer, evidenced by the joints that stuck out further than hers.  They were surprisingly soft, almost delicate.  As she stared at them she became aware that her new thumb had a sparse sprinkling of short dark black hair that curled ever so slightly.  She frowned.  Whilst an additional five fingers might have their uses, a hairy thumb was positively not desirable.  

Just as the very girly part of her mind was about to have a full-on freak-out fit over that, her logical brain, that was so often praised by those around her, finally rubbed the sleep-dust out of its eyes and decided to apply itself.  

Processing the ten-fingers one hand information in less than a nano-second, it firmly booted its girly counterpart up the arse and pointed out that it was unlikely that Madame Pomfrey would have done anything to make her digits multiply, thus the most rational conclusion was that the fingers most likely were attached to another hand, and hopefully an arm, connected to another person.

Grumbling somewhat, her eyes then made the necessary adjustments in focus to confirm the theory.  

'Arm, linked to unidentified male with black hair - mystery solved'.  

Hermione's girly brain breathed a sigh of relief and allowed her eyes to drift shut for some more slumber.

Less than two seconds later, her logical brain snapped them wide open, setting off all the alarm bells it could find inside her head.  'UNIDENTIFIED MALE!!!  What the…'

Slowly her head craned round to try and get a better visual on the person dozing peacefully by her side.  The girly part of her brain told her to calm down.  'It's probably only Harry.'  Her racing heart steadied to a less arresting pace.  Logical brain took over and began analysing the evidence; 'holding her hand meant it had to be someone who cared about her.  The black hair narrows it down to Harry.  Phew! mystery solved.'  Although the more she looked at it, the more she got the feeling that the hair wasn't the right length or texture to be Harry's.

Just then 'Harry' moved his head giving her a clear view of his face.

'Well, that's the face I wouldn't have expected to see in a million years,' thought the logical part of her brain, before it went and hid in the cupboard at the back, courageously leaving girly-brain in charge of the reaction.

Luckily girly-brain went into shock preventing Hermione from screaming.  She screwed her eyes shut and repeated almost mantra-like, 'Professor Snape is holding my hand.  Professor Snape is holding my hand', over and over in her head.  Deciding that the best course of action was no action she began to count sheep in her head willing herself to fall asleep.  Her subconscious attempted to thwart her and kept turning her sheep into bats, but after three minutes it got bored and allowed her to drift back into the land of nod.

When Severus Snape awoke, barely fifteen minutes later, he was in a foul mood and had a stiff-neck.  Before he even raised his head he had decided grimly that it was going to be a bad day for anyone who crossed his path.

a/n's: 

Well helllooo there!  I'd like to introduce you to my very little pet review monster.  Isn't he cute?  Look at those big mournful eyes he's got.  'Why're they mournful?' I hear you ask.  Well, it's 'cos he's hungry, so please, help me feed him.  Leave me a review, not for my sake you understand, but for my sweet pet.  :o)

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, I really appreciate it!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter sob!

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Shanks was rudely awakened as he hit the floor with a hard thump. He had been having a pleasant dream about Finula Fairfax, a particularly fine example of the female leprechaun, made more alluring by the fact that she was an innkeeper's daughter. Things had just got to an interesting stage in their flirty conversation, he was twirling a strand of her auburn hair through his fingers when his dream transformed and he had shrunk to the size of an imp, tumbling down her tresses before being awakened by the dull pain caused by his large rear impacting the stone paves. He tilted his head up to glare accusingly at his assailant and was miffed to find that said attacker was paying him absolutely no attention.

The occupants of the Gryffindor common room would have been surprised to observe what the cat did next. Crookshanks' normal reaction to an offence against him was generally quick and brutal. The hapless individual who had unwisely stoked the cat's temper usually found that they were treated to a short but highly painful introduction to Shank's left paw, which from his brawling days was by far his strongest. Most of the time, the inflicted gashes were deep enough to warrant a visit to the infirmary by the poor victim.

So for Shanks to do nothing more than glower menacingly at Snape would have drawn a deluge of comments. Sadly there was no-one around to witness this uncharacteristic restraint by the moggy. Nor would anyone register the most unusual look of apology on Snape's face as he turned to face the cat. Even if someone had been present, they could have been forgiven for not noting it, for it only appeared for a second before being replaced by the trademark 'mocking smirk' of the Potions professor. Cats, however, have the ability to monitor the tiniest of details from behind half-lidded eyes. Thus Shanks saw the look and wondered whether all the tall tales about the evil Dungeons Dweller he had heard over the years were pure childish fantasy.

He decided to accompany Snape for the day to find out.

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a/n: not that much humour and very short, but more is to come, just had to move the story along a little. I know it's been an age since I last updated but if people let me know if they're still interested in this fic I'll update more regularly! Reviews are greatly appreciated. 


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